The Healer's Errand
by Faerthurin
Summary: The work in the Houses of Healing after the Battle of the Pelennor Fields was intense. But where did the supply of herbs come from, if there was little athelas in Minas Tirith? Gapfiller.


Disclaimer: No, I really don't believe that I'm Tolkien. A couple of OCs belong to me, and for the rest, I wish only to do homage to the brilliant Professor.

Gratitude to dreamingfifi and her website http:\\ realelvish . net for the names.

Many thanks also to Lady Anke Eissmann for proof-reading and for helping me when I was stuck! Please read her stories - they're marvellous - and look at her stunning artwork! http:\\ anke . edoras-art . de

Much gratitude to my friend Ken Castle for a considerable amount of editing and advice.

* * *

In a pavilion outside the broken gates of Minas Tirith, twenty-eight Rangers of Arnor and the two sons of Elrond sat together in a solemn atmosphere, quietly mourning their companions. Halbarad, Celepharn and Dior had fallen in the Battle of the Pelennor that day. Though several of the mourners were wounded, they cared little, having already staunched and bound their own injuries. Pain of the body was diminished in the face of this pain of the spirit.

A voice was heard a little way off, speaking to one of the Rohirrim, who were also camped around the City. "Sir, know you where I can find the sons of Elrond? The Lord Aragorn sends a message."

Elladan and Elrohir glanced at each other in silent speech and left the pavilion. The Rangers only heard Elrohir call in response, "We are here. What is the message?"

The Gondorian hurried up to them. "Lord Aragorn desires your assistance in tending the wounded, and asks you to hasten into the City. I am to guide you to the Houses of Healing."

The purposeful response could be easily heard in the pavilion. "We will come. Lead on."

The three left in the direction of the City, and Faerthurin stood up. "I am going with them," she announced, at which most of the other Rangers, following her lead, joined the small group.

Faerthurin barely registered the next few hours, as the skills of all the Rangers were in high demand to bind wounds, suture cuts, and set the occasional broken bone. The ancillary healers visited many of the houses nearby and all through Minas Tirith, caring for those less sorely wounded, who had been taken to homes, since bed space in the Houses of Healing themselves was precious now.

The passing hours left less than two before dawn, and Faerthurin was wondering if there was any end to the numbers of the wounded, when barely-recognisable footsteps approached. Glancing up from her latest patient, she saw Aragorn enter, grey of face, with sunken eyes and sagging shoulders.

"Captain!" Startled to see him thus, she almost paused her work. "When did you last sleep?"

As if the question were an ordinary greeting, her beloved captain replied in terse, business-like tones revealing only a hint of his weariness. "Faerthurin, I'm glad you're here. Are you too tired to undertake a journey for me?"

"No, Captain. I am not so weary, and my horse has rested since evening. Where do I go?"

"Lossarnach. There is little athelas here in the City, but a woman of the Houses of Healing knows where it can be found in the woods of Lossarnach. Ask in the City where Ioreth lives. Take her with you, bring back as much athelas as you both can find and carry. When you speak to her, use the name "kingsfoil," as she knows the plant by that name."

"Take Ioreth to Lossarnach and bring back kingsfoil. Yes, Captain."

"And see who talks the most!" Aragorn added with a smile, knowing well the loquacious nature that had dominated Faerthurin's youth, conquered only in her adulthood. "Do not let her delay you."

Faerthurin returned the smile, nodded as she completed her work on the injured man, and departed through the dark streets. Fetching her horse Daeroch from the camp outside the City, she was greeted by him warmly, with no objection to the irregularity of his exercise, accustomed as he was to it by now. _"About an hour until dawn,"_ she silently mused. _"If Ioreth is unused to rising early, I'll bring her by force!"_

She asked the guards at the First Gate where to find Ioreth. They looked at each other, and asked her, "Your name, sir, and why seek you her?"

Used to being taken for a man, even cultivating it these days to avoid time-wasting explanations - hiding her figure with binding and padding, and habitually using a deep voice - she responded briefly. "Faerthurin, Ranger of the North, on an urgent errand of the Lord Aragorn," she answered, and repeated with force, "Where can I find Ioreth the healer?"  
The senior guard came to a decision, and answered, "She has lodgings in the Houses of Healing, in the Sixth Circle." Faerthurin thanked him and hastened on up.

Leaving Daeroch by the door with the command, "Dartho," she entered the Houses, to be immediately accosted by a boy of about eleven years, who stood up and asked, "Do you need something, sir?"

"I seek Ioreth, and am told she has lodgings here," she replied briskly.

The boy demurred. "Sir, she has, but she would be asleep. It is still early, and the work was hard here yesterday. Many have been brought from the battle." His voice trembled a little, and Faerthurin realised what shocks he must have had, seeing the wounds of war for the first time.

"I know," she answered more gently, "but many are yet in need of healing, and for that reason the king himself has sent me on an urgent errand with Ioreth. Do your duties prevent you from showing me where her rooms are?"

"No, sir; this way," he replied, leading her down a corridor. "I am a runner for the healers, and my name is Calemír.

"Is there really a king returning?" Calemír continued. "Bergil said that the king had come and healed Lord Faramir, but there have been Stewards in Minas Tirith forever!" In his eager whisperings, he barely even paused for breath. "Well, for nearly a thousand years. There couldn't be a king again - my teacher said the line of Anarion was broken!"

Always ready to herald her beloved Captain's cause, she explained. "There is truly a king again. Did you learn too of the Line of Isildur, and of Arvedui, last king of the North-kingdom, who married the daughter of the king of Gondor? There is one descendant of Anarion yet, and he is now outside the City resting from long labour. _Or he ought to be!"_ she added mentally, as they arrived at Ioreth's room.

Faerthurin thanked Calemír and dismissed him back to his post in the outer hall. Knocking loudly on the door and calling her name, Faerthurin woke Ioreth, but the old healer was disinclined to travel so early.

"Ioreth! Ioreth! I need you to take me to Lossarnach. We must fetch kingsfoil. Come quickly!"  
"Kingsfoil, you say?" came a thick, half-asleep voice from in the room. "I was asked for kingsfoil just today, by the king himself! 'The hands of a king are the hands of a healer,' as the saying is, and so I knew he was the king. How wonderful it is to have a king in Gondor again..."

"Ioreth, quickly! We must go!"

"...without him our Lord Faramir would have died, as well as many others! And yet the king is a warrior..."

"Ioreth! Lasto beth lammen! The KING wants you to come with me to Lossarnach. He needs more kingsfoil. Can you show me where it grows?"

"The king? The king himself wants me?"

"Yes, he does; he asked for you personally," answered Faerthurin, exasperated, "so hurry and make yourself ready!"

Finally convinced, Ioreth dressed, but her tongue never slowed, talking about how strange it was for the king to be both a healer and a warrior, and how she had recognised him (forgetting that she'd already told Faerthurin that bit), and what the king would do for Gondor, and the discovery that the herb she had thought of little use was so important, and about springtime in Imloth Melui. Faerthurin tried to distract herself in an attempt to keep an even temper.

After some minutes the old healer opened the door wearing a simple long tunic and overdress, caught at the waist with a woven girdle, and carrying a small bag.

"Well, that's that; I'm ready now. How shall we travel? Have you horses? I hope you have a pillion-seat for me. I cannot ride a beast on my own," Ioreth rattled on, even as she hustled to keep up with the briskly-striding Ranger leading the way outside.

Faerthurin's only response was to say laconically, "Good," and lead the way to the patiently-waiting Daeroch. He twitched his ears at Ioreth, and looked at his mistress for reassurance. Giving him a pat, she almost hauled Ioreth onto his back, mounted behind her, and nudged him to start. The command was rougher than she intended - Faerthurin grimaced as she realised just how annoyed she was. She patted Daeroch to apologize to him, and directed him more gently through the streets.

Ioreth commented, "Horses are not often used within the City. Only a few errand-riders come this high; other folk are expected to leave their horses before passing the Second Gate. There are inns in the First Circle with good stabling, I hear, so most mounted travellers lodge in them."

As they clattered through the the dimly-lit city, Faerthurin thought, _"This must be repayment for the years the Captain put up with my endless talk. His patience is that of a saint!"_

0-0-0-0-0-0

Faerthurin thought back twenty years to the time the Captain had just accepted her as his apprentice. Only by the grace of the Valar had they sailed from her home to the Grey Havens, then left the Havens behind them as they travelled east through Eriador on foot. The land looked bare in its autumn exfoliation, and the wind gusted across it, giving sudden bursts of chill, and the sun was westering. Faerthurin had shivered slightly, but followed her master eagerly nonetheless.

"We will go to Rivendell. You need equipment and a horse," Estel had said, with an assessing glance at her.

"We ride?" asked the young Faerthurin. "Good, I like horses. I know how to ride. You may be having to teach me to shoot, track, hide, hunt, and fight, but at least I can ride. Mother said a young lady of nobility" - her older self was amused to remember how she had grimaced in distaste at the time - "should learn how. So I guess I should be grateful for her high ideals."

"You should be grateful to her for much more than that," replied Estel, looking at her keenly, as the wind whipped their hair and clothes around them.

Faerthurin sighed. "I know, I know - my life, my good home, my education, almost everything I've had or done - but there was one thing I wanted more than all that. Freedom, Estel. Mother tried to live her dreams in me, and wondered why I didn't like it. But Father understood. Every summer he took me and my brothers camping or hiking or boating, and let us choose where and how. He never complained if we chose a hard way, either, and he taught me so much. I miss him, Estel - but you are like a second father to me now. And you're teaching me things even Father couldn't have taught me."

At this point, Estel had gently interrupted her. "I know you miss your family, and it is right that you should, but," here his voice hardened slightly, "one thing you must learn if you are to be a Ranger is how to be silent."

Faerthurin hung her head and muttered an apology.

"Now, listen!" said Estel. "Tell me what you hear!"

She perked up again and obeyed. "I hear... pigeons settling down and trying to keep warm... the gusty wind - what does wind like that mean, Estel?"

"With those clouds, wet weather to come," he replied.

Faerthurin nodded and continued, "High above some - swans? - still flying south... trees rubbing against each other... a small animal scuffling in the dirt behind those bushes - would that be a badger, Estel? There aren't any badgers at home, so I don't know what they sound like..."

Her Captain had always been patient, but as she reflected on the past, Faerthurin realised how exasperating she must have been.

While Faerthurin reminisced, Daeroch was busy picking his way across the battle-cluttered Pelennor, then speeding up along the road. The Ranger's faithful mount hardly needed guiding on the well-travelled and well-kept causeway; he seemed as eager to finish this journey as she, despite, or possibly because of, his double load.

0-0-0-0-0-0

Meanwhile, dawn broke over a less obvious, but no less grim scene in Minas Tirith. The healers' work was not going well.

Elrohir, just leaving a wounded man's house in the Fifth Circle, met an exhausted Ranger at the door of another house.

"Greetings, Beleguron!" he said.

Beleguron looked up wearily. "Greetings, Lord Elrohir. This one has the Black Breath; it is beyond me. Can you help?"

"Alas, without athelas there is little that any of us, even Aragorn, can do, yet I will come."

They returned to the sick man's bedside. Elrohir took one look, shook his head, and laid a hand on the man's forehead. He sang a song of power and put the soldier into a dreamless, untroubled sleep, then the two northerners silently left the house.

As they walked toward the Sixth Circle, Elrohir commented, "He is hard stricken with the Black Breath. Who is he? and where was he in the battle?"

"His name is Damrod, and he is of Lord Faramir's company," replied Beleguron. "He has almost certainly felt that cursed Breath before this battle - who knows how often, as he faithfully served his lord in Ithilien? Grief would be great at his loss. I fought beside him in the battle, and he is a valiant man."

"His loss would indeed be great," answered Elrohir, turning a corner to find the pair of them accosted by yet more people asking aid for their friends. With a nod, the northerners parted to continue their work.

0-0-0-0-0-0

A couple of hours later, the early sunlight warming them, the riders neared the woods of Lossarnach. Faerthurin touched the half-dozing healer on the shoulder to get her attention, and asked her, "Which way from here?"

Ioreth looked around carefully at the beeches and oaks, and finally said, "Further - that way."

Daeroch carried them on at a steady canter for several minutes, amid pale light filtered through bright spring growth, until Faerthurin asked, "Ioreth, is this the place?"

Ioreth pointed again. "I think it was there."

Faerthurin guided her faithful horse in the direction indicated, under the trees and as far as an area with thicker undergrowth. "Here, Ioreth?"

"Yes, this should be the place, though it has been long since I was here. There may be no kingsfoil here anymore, but in that case at least we shall have tried. Well, help me down - I can't find the plant from up here, can I?"

The Ranger muttered under her breath, "No dîn!" as she dismounted. She helped Ioreth down, and loosened her horse's girth before following Ioreth into the thicket. Daeroch, left untethered, helped himself to the lush grass.

"I can't find it," Ioreth said eventually, sounding somewhat crestfallen. "I thought it was here, but it is possible that I misremembered. I have not left Minas Tirith in years, and it all looks different here now."

"Well, it's the right kind of terrain and companion plants," answered Faerthurin. "We have to search for it! Call me only if you find some." She began searching in every thicket, sniffing for it and hoping that the morning warmth would not have dissipated the scent yet. _"More delays!"_ she thought. _"The Captain needs the athelas NOW!"_

But even as she thought it, she heard Ioreth call. "Ranger! I found some! Here, down here under the trees!"

_"Very specific directions!"_ thought Faerthurin, but easily followed the sound of the healer's voice to a dense grove, where the sweet smell of the plant was faint, but distinct.

Ioreth had picked a few leaves only. Exasperated, Faerthurin offered her the bag, then knelt and stripped the plant, leaving only enough leaves for it to grow.

"We need more; keep looking," Faerthurin said, in a tone of mixed victory and worry. The sun was creeping higher through the tree-branches, and Faerthurin's sense of haste was rising with it.

For ten minutes or so they searched, finding one or two plants in a place, harvesting the leaves, and continuing to search, until Faerthurin suddenly and clearly smelled its sweet scent. Parting the bushes, she called out, "Over here, Ioreth! A big patch at last!" Together they filled the bag, eagerly cramming in as much as it could possibly hold, then Faerthurin tied it shut with a peeled green twig, and whistled for her horse.

Daeroch, good horse that he was, whinnied a reply and appeared immediately. Faerthurin hoisted Ioreth aboard, mounted, and guided Daeroch back toward the City. Once on the road, though, with the task almost complete, the adrenaline keeping Ranger active ran out. She let her horse have his head and practically fell asleep in the saddle. The old healer, now wide awake, continued chattering the whole way, but her companion cared not a whit.

0-0-0-0-0-0

The day's business was fully under way in Minas Tirith, and many more people were busy with the aftermath of the battle, including relieving the healers. Beleguron, finally deciding he could do no more without falling asleep by someone's bed, headed back to the Rangers' pavilion outside the City. There he met Ranion, one of the worst wounded of their own company, who asked for tidings.

"Many have been tended and will live, but the Black Breath is upon many more," Beleguron replied, weariness stripping his report of emotion. "There is no athelas left, and we can do little for the men on whom the Black Breath lies heavily. I know not how many I tended - many valiant men, who deserve better than to die thus - helplessly, after the battle."

"Have hope!" answered Ranion. "Faerthurin returned here an hour or so before dawn, saying that the Captain sent her to fetch athelas."

"May she be in time to save these men!" exclaimed Beleguron in hope, and with that, he wrapped himself in his cloak and lay down, falling asleep instantly.

0-0-0-0-0-0

As the bells of the City marked the fourth hour after dawn, a rough-haired horse, weary-looking from carrying two riders, but proud of bearing, cantered up to the ruined Gate. The guards halted it and asked the riders for a password. The older of the riders gave the correct one, and the guards let them through. The younger rider mumbled what may have been, "Thank you," and signalled her horse on.

The two women entered the Houses of Healing, Ioreth leaving to find the herb-master, and Faerthurin entering the room where she knew Faramir had been laid. As expected, there was her Captain.

"Estel, I've found it," said Faerthurin, forgetting to speak any but her native language, but holding out the bag to him.

"Hannon gen edregol, Faerthurin," replied Aragorn. "Now go, take your rest," he added gently, ushering her out of the room and the Houses. That was one order she was glad to obey. She took Daeroch down to the campsite, where Ranion offered to cool him down, then she collapsed into her cloak and, despite the noon sunlight, knew no more until evening.

In the City, though, Aragorn was not the only one busy using the athelas. Among others, Beleguron returned to Damrod's bedside, and was filled with joy when he woke and asked how Captain Faramir was. Smiling broadly, Beleguron replied that he was recovering, as was Damrod himself, and that one, if not both, of them should rest for many days.

That evening, when Faerthurin woke, Aragorn was sitting in the pavilion, checking Andúril's edge. He put down his whetstone when he saw she was awake, and thanked her again for completing her mission.  
"If I had known you were so weary I would not have sent you," he added, with mixed concern and relief for her visible in his eyes.

But she merely smiled. "Nay, Captain, I would do it many times over. It was but a small task, and I was glad to do it, for it made possible the saving of the lives of many valiant sons of Gondor."

* * *

Translations:

Dartho - Stay  
Lasto beth lammen! - Listen! (Or more literally, "Listen to my tongue's word!")  
No dîn! - Be silent! (i.e., shut up!)  
Hannon gen edregol - Thank you greatly


End file.
